Resemblances
by breeeliss
Summary: Zuko couldn't deny that his life certainly wasn't something he was ashamed of. He had accomplished good. He had created good. He had no problems leaving all that behind—a lasting legacy. Zuko-centric. Pro-bending Circuit submission.


**Title: **Resemblances

**Words: **1570

**Rating: **K+

**Summary: **Zuko couldn't deny that his life certainly wasn't something he was ashamed of. He had accomplished good. He had created good. He had no problems leaving all that behind—a lasting legacy. Zuko-centric. Pro-bending Circuit submission.

**a/n: **I'm filling in for a teammate for the Pro-Bending tournament, and decided to take on their prompt as a favor. This was an idea that the two of us came up with together, but I sort of realized that this will sort of read as a parallel to **Brother Dear**, so please feel free to consider them companion pieces. However, you don't need to read one in order to understand the other. Hope you enjoy it!

For the benefit of the judges, **I am submitting this prompt on behalf of my team manager, therefore I will be using the Manager's prompts.**

**Task: **Celebrate the end of a long, good life

**Prompts:**

(word) joyous

(genre) Family

(restriction) no dialogue

**Bonus Task: **Include lightning somewhere into the story

**OOO**

_Resemblances_

**OOO**

Zuko hadn't meant to worry Izumi when he had retired early this evening. He had been doing it with increasing frequency over the past few months—complaints of aches and pains in his joints, fatigue that could only be remedied with rest, and general feelings of discomfort that Zuko sought solace from in the form of sleep. Izumi was always a rather stern woman, and that quality suited her wonderfully when she ascended the throne of Fire Lord. But all that seemed to crumble into worry and affection when the thought of her father being sick suddenly became a pervading possibility.

Of course, doctors had come and gone in order to ascertain some diagnosis. Fortunetellers, astrologists, herbalists, healers, and palace clinicians all told him different stories plagued with vagaries that did nothing to soothe his daughter. Always one to demand straight-forward answers, that one. Zuko remembered a time when he had once been that way—a teenager plagued with an uncertain future who only wished his path would be revealed to him clearly as opposed to being shrouded in riddles. Of course he learned that life was often more complicated than that, and clear answers were often never available to you.

He was surprised to learn that her daughter had even gone to collect Katara from the Southern Water Tribe to offer her own expertise. The weathered water tribe warrior still possessed the same glint of youthfulness in her warm eyes that he often hoped he still had in his own. He often kidded to his daughter that it was often all old people had when their mortality was hanging over their heads. Izumi hated when he spoke that way, but Zuko knew Katara had come to a similar understanding when she announced that she could not find any indication that the previous Fire Lord was ill. She did, however, place a warm hand over Zuko's own and smiled sadly at him in a way that made him realize the reality of the situation.

He had figured as much. He just didn't want to tell Izumi of such possibilities. She hated the idea of them.

She was currently pillowing her head in her arms as she rested right at his bedside in his personal chambers. It was the only time in years that he had seen his daughter prioritize personal matters over her own nation. But there she was, greying hair splayed charmingly against Zuko's crimson sheets, breathing softly while in the midst of the deepest sleep she had probably received all week. Izumi had been staying up at odd hours, prepared for the moment in which her father would need her immediate attention. But for some reason, she decided to accompany Zuko to his quarters when he notified the staff that he would be retiring.

She mentioned something about wanting to be near in case he needed something. Izumi stared at him so imploringly—an expression that he hadn't seen across her face since she was a young child—that he didn't have the heart to deny her. But he knew she was exhausted from so many sleepless nights, so she had inevitably fallen asleep before he had.

He reached a wrinkled hand out and brushed aside strands of her hair that had fallen across her face. He smiled fondly at her. Izumi was definitely his pride and joy. Zuko didn't think he would have ever been quite so fond of anything in his life to the extent that he was for his daughter. He remembered the joyous moment she was born, an innocent little cherub face amidst a sea of red blankets that was still blinking curiously at the new world around her. It was at that moment that he understood the weight of being a father and the responsibility of having a child. He also became intimately aware of the fierce desire to ensure that his daughter was cherished and protected for as long as he was alive, and he vowed to never make her feel like she wasn't anything other than exceptional.

Zuko wasn't oblivious. He knew immediately the source of these strong feelings. He was reminded of them every time he looked upon his daughter's face and saw evidence of his mother and his sister: two women who, during his youth, shared so many physical similarities but who both caused different sorts of grief throughout his life: grief that he didn't want to repeat.

The elation that filled his heart when he had recovered his mother once more was blinding, but it was tempered with a forlorn recollection of her old face, her old demeanor, her old touch…he knew it wasn't something he would get back. The years that were emptied of her presence when she had spared his life were definitely ones he would not get back despite how grateful he was of her loving sacrifice. In a way, he was thankful that Izumi had come to look so much like his mother. In a way, he had gotten a piece of his past back that a selfish part of him desperately wanted to have a taste of once more.

Of course, there was no avoiding the resemblance she held to Azula. After all, Azula had always been strikingly beautiful despite her demeanor.

Zuko sometimes still felt pains in his abdomen from the shock of lightning she had delivered him all those years ago during their Agni Kai despite Katara's attempts at healing. It was a strange reminder to hold of his sister, but unfortunately it was the only one he had. He never forgot the sharpness of her eyes right before she had conjured the sparkling electricity that shone so brightly and had then collided with his body and spread all throughout his nerves. He hadn't seen or heard from Azula in many years, something that he wished he could remedy. But despite fruitless searches for signs of his sister, none ever surfaced.

Maybe she didn't want to be found. Maybe he wasn't trying hard enough. He would never know. But despite all the torment she had put him through as a child, despite how much she was favorite, despite how much more talented she was than he…he still remembered bits of pieces of their childhood from when they were extremely young. When they played hide and seek in the playrooms. When they played tag in the gardens. When Azula begged Zuko to show her small displays of his own Firebending back when she still hadn't discovered her unmatched abilities. They were siblings.

No. They still _are_. When they had both been looking for their mother, he still couldn't hold back those brotherly urges that were sometimes as simple as covering her with a blanket to keep her from getting cold at night.

The Fire Lord headpiece was falling out of Izumi's hair. She had fallen asleep at Zuko's bedside without bothering to take the thing off. Carefully, he had removed the headpiece, combed back his daughter's hair with his fingers, and reached over to set the crown by his bedside.

Zuko stared pensively at the familiar crown despite his growing fatigue. This was one of the largest anxieties of his life, he had realized. The foreboding pressure to rebuild a nation, to make up for a century's long war, to make up for the genocide of an entire people. It was often a fear that had emerged only in private settings when he was stressing silently in his study, or when he had confided his worries to Aang, his most precious friend, who he could always depend on to offer words of wisdom and encouragement. The main source of his worries was a part of his lineage that he couldn't ever hope to ignore.

His resemblance to his father oftentimes truly scared him. It was a childish fear, which was why he only ever confided it to Aang, but it was one that he took to heart. His father's height, his father's chin, his father's shoulders, his father's nose…even looking in the mirror brought about this irrational fear that Zuko would become a failure of a ruler—as if his lineage were doomed to dishonor.

But if there was one thing that Zuko had learned throughout his life, it was that no one was ever truly doomed to wallow in a family's shadow. Zuko had the power to instill change—to create a new precedent. His family and his past were things that he no longer felt ashamed of, but rather saw as opportunities to create a new past and to create a lineage that his children and grandchildren would be proud of.

It was the day that his daughter had been coronated and the day his grandson had been promoted to become General of the United Forces that he started to see his efforts become a tangible reality.

No, Zuko certainly wasn't a fool. He knew his time was coming to a close. If not tomorrow, then soon. But it wasn't a chapter of his life that loomed over him and filled him with fear. After all, he couldn't deny that his life certainly wasn't something he was ashamed of. He had accomplished good. He had created good. He had no problems leaving all that behind—a lasting legacy.

Zuko shut his eyes and gently patted Izumi's head before he drifted to sleep.

Yes. Nothing to be ashamed of at all.


End file.
